


And We Skydive From Walls We Built

by romanrorypond



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Demi!Thomas - Freeform, F/M, Jock!Thomas, M/M, Punk!Newt, pan!newt, probably idk what newt is rly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanrorypond/pseuds/romanrorypond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[[FORMERLY CALLED LIMP]]</p><p>It's not much, but it's better than nothing</p><p>We're running on fumes, but we'll make it through the night</p><p>It's not love, but it's better than dreaming</p><p>--</p><p>Thomas doesn't really know what love feels like. Newt has more than enough love in his heart to go around.<br/>Title & description from Fumes by EDEN</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things That Don't Go Well With Green

**Author's Note:**

> P L E A S E R E A D T H I S
> 
> OKAY so i started this fic in my sophmore year of high school (thats like... almost 4 years ago) so up until the chapter titled 2017 UPDATE, the writing is god awful. 
> 
> PLEASE SKIP TO THE 2017 UPDATE, THEN RETURN HERE. It has no spoilers, I promise!

"Careful shank, you wouldn't want to ruin those pretty little arms of yours."

Thomas chuckled, and leaned into the door frame. His brown hair swept messily over his forehead, perfectly framing his dark brown eyes and lightly freckled skin. He crossed his arms over his letterman, placing his foot on the wood behind him.

"Shut the fuck up, Dieson."

Another boy stood a few feet in front of Thomas, balancing several cardboard boxes filled with various streamers and deflated balloons, old Christmas decorations, along with a multitude of heavy-looking containers with quite a few pots and pans. 

His bulky arms swayed the boxes back and forth, and it was nearly impossible for him to see over them, causing him to trip into the plastic fold-out table on the other side of the room-presumably where he was supposed to be placing the boxes. Thomas snorted, watching the other boy practically throw the contents onto the table.

"Good job. I'd pat you on the back but you might trip." Thomas retorted, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

The other boy shot him a fierce glare, his eyes staring daggers into the snickering brunette. Thomas giggled at his friend, knowing that he wouldn't do jack shit to him- even if he asked. His friend was a lot taller, and a lot buffer, but wouldn't dare hit him like he meant it. A tough Asian boy with dark hair, close cut, and a grimace to match. He wore a letterman jacket over a gray t-shirt, identical to Thomas'.

Thomas strided over to his aggravated friend, elbowing him in the ribs.   
"Lighten up Minho, you know I would've helped you. I mean... would've. Paige says I'm here for 'supervision'." Thomas raised his index and middle fingers at "supervision", creating air quotes, as Minho sighed. Thomas walked over to the box of party supplies and what seemed like random junk, rummaging through it like he was a starving raccoon.

"Hey, get your curious hands off the decorations." Minho snapped, pulling Thomas off of the boxes. Thomas smirked, and tossed a festive red streamer in his face. Minho wrestled with it for a few seconds before throwing it to the ground, grinding his shoe into it.

"Who's the one touching stuff now?" Thomas smiled.

This whole thing was stupid. All of this for some dumb holiday party. For one stupid night where all of the shuck-faced idiots at Wicked High could do what they did every other night. Drink, grind, steal, smoke- whatever else. Thomas found the prospect ridiculous. This idea that every high school student had to submit to the most cliche of all cliches. But, nonetheless, Thomas was an all star track runner, and instead of being treated like a King by his school, he felt more like a slave at the moment. Principal Paige had assigned the track team and StuCo fully in charge of the arrangement of the festivities, much to Thomas' dislike.

He threw himself into a plastic chair pushed against the wall, throwing his arms behind his head. Minho turned around, and rolled his eyes at him.   
"We're supposed to be sorting." Minho barked. Thomas simply laughed, and watched as Minho tossed a variety of tinsel and streamers to the side, before picking up a roll of green ribbon. "Maybe we could tie these to the tables in the gym?" Minho mused, trying to get Thomas interested in their current work. The other track member tilted his head at the ribbon, before scoffing and leaning back again.

"...What?" Minho asked.  
"Nothing... it's just... The tables are navy. Green and navy really don't go together."

Minho held back laughter, his shoulders and chest rising with humor, much to Thomas' confusion.

"What's funny, Minos?" He taunted. It must've been a sports thing, calling people by their last names. Thomas didn't think much about it, honestly- he'd already gotten used to people calling him both Thomas and Dieson.

Minho broke his silence, giggling heartily.   
"Man, you didn't want to help me carry anything, but now you're an interior designer?" He laughed, throwing the ribbon at Thomas. He groaned at him, wrapping the ribbon around his neck and head lazily.

"Look I'm just saying, blues and greens only go together in some ways. And that navy, and this green-" Thomas stopped to jokingly wave his finger around, snapping in a z-formation. "Nu-uh honey."

Minho laughed, sliding against the wall until he was sitting. "Don't know when that knowledge will be any use to you, girlfriend."

Thomas simply shrugged, and continued covering himself in the brightly colored decorations, like he was a Christmas tree. "You never know. Maybe chicks dig color theory."

Minho went a little solemn, fidgeting with his watch while he looked at Thomas, before speaking again.

"Speaking of which... do you even have a date to the Holiday Dance?"

Thomas frowned a little bit, before pulling the ribbons off of himself and letting them drop to the storage room floor. "No... I didn't really think I needed one. Considering I don't even want to be there in the first place, and it's bad enough that it's my 'duty' as a 'valued student' to be there- why would I want some poor girl to be there with me too."

"Come on man, it's not like you'd have a problem getting a date or anything, Mr. Divisionals all star three goddamn years in a row." Minho replied, rather forcefully.

Thomas looked at the floor, sliding his sneakers against the concrete. He hadn't really had any urge to find a girl to bring, let alone thought that any girls would want to bring him. He'd been with girls before- more than he could count- but he never clicked with any of them. It made him a little bit sad, really. That he wasn't more than just the pretty boy on the track team that all the girls fawned over.

Minho noticed his expression change, and got up from his spot on the floor, before patting Thomas on the back.

"Ah, man. It's not that important. Come on, let's finish moving all this shit so we can go home finally. 'S Friday after all. Don't you want to go do something interesting?" Minho cheerily said. Thomas snapped out of whatever existential crisis he was having, and helped Minho finish dragging whatever junk back into the room for sorting. His mind was still on the subject however, something he still couldn't shake just bounced around in his head.

I wonder if anyone actually cares about color theory.


	2. Useless Facts About Patrick Stump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas finds a cute blonde and Minho really hates pop-punk music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I suck at pacing, but enjoy!

The parking lot was nearly empty, not to Thomas' suprise. Whoever wanted to stay after school this late willingly was probably insane. Or dead. Thomas glanced over at Minho, who was texting with a rather devious smirk. Probably girls. Minho let out a little scoff, as his thumbs sped up their pace.

Definitely girls.

The two walked over to Minho's car, an expensive looking Mercedes with a nice big scratch on the side, from Freshmen year when Thomas angered the Lacrosse team and put them under the impression (on accident, of course) that this nice silver car was in fact his. Thomas had never cherished Minho as a friend more, considering he isn't dead or hanging off of the science buildings. Thomas always believed he remained his friend after that because he's planning something much, much worse after graduation. Thomas shuddered.

"Who's this shank?"

Thomas was busy staring off into nothing to notice the other student that Minho had pointed out. He was yards away from them, leaned up against an old black car, a real lemon from the looks of it. He was talking on the phone, with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, but Thomas was too far to notice any real distingushible features about him. The boy hung up and swung around to hop into his car. Thomas quickly noticed a trait that mightve been overlooked if you weren't looking at the right time.

The boy had a limp.

"Why do you think he's here?"

Minho's voice suddenly jumped back into Thomas' ears, making him flinch slightly. He sighed before moving to hop into the passenger's seat of Minho's car.

"Don't really see why it matters. Probably some delinquent shuck-face here for detention." Thomas said, with a rather bored expression on his face. Minho narrowed his eyes at the stranger's car, before climbing into the car next to Thomas. He started the car, before checking his phone again. Thonas rolled his eyes, and pushed Minho's phone down.

"Hey Minos, I don't care if some chick is currently naked on your front lawn and is sending you pictures of herself with your plastic flamingos- you're driving. How many more texting/driving presentations have you seen at this point?" Thomas sarcastically mused. Minho groaned and looked at Thomas.

"I'm not texting any girls- directly. I'm trying to see if Alby knows anyone for you to go with next Friday."

Thomas' eyes widened a bit before letting out an exasperated sigh and throwing his head into the headrest. Minho stared at him, annoyed, before putting his hands on the wheel and veering out of the parking lot.

"I don't need a fucking date, Minho."

"Look, I know you don't need one, but wouldn't you like one? Unless you want to be like loner limp back there in the parking lot." Minho replied, not taking his eyes off the road.

Thomas thought for a second, before answering. "I don't know, sure. I mean who are you going with?"

"Eliz-" before Minho could finish his sentence, Thomas cut him off with a sharp "wait."

"...You saw he had a limp?"

Minho turned to look at Thomas, raising an eyebrow. His eyes looked confused, and a little aggravated.

"Yeah...? Why is that important?"

Thomas immediately regretted his question. He sunk back into his chair, watching the nearly empty road in front of them. Thomas didn't really understand why he cared, but he did. He had known almost every single person in the entire school, every Freshmen Sophmore Junior and Senior inside and out, yet he didn't recall a single one who drove a black beat up car and had a limp. It bothered him a little, like some sort of weird mystery. Did he just see a ghost or maybe even a teacher he didn't know? Now he was being ridiculous. But he didn't care.

He flicked the radio on, trying to drown out any weird creepy thoughts about the stranger in the parking lot. The sound of Sugar, We're Going Down suddenly filled the car. Thomas smiled a bit, before humming along cheerily. Minho rolled his eyes. He never really liked Thomas' music.

"Did you know Patrick Stump was born in Illinois?" Thomas chimed.

Minho looked at him, gasping sarcastically. "No!? Really? Oh man Thomas, now you can wow the ladies with your knowledge of colors AND Patrick Stump!"

Thomas groaned, and threw his arms up. "Some people care. I'm sure someone cares about green and navy and the lead singer of Fall Out Boy."

Minho laughed, turning into his driveway. He put his arm onto the car door and faced Thomas. "That would be you buddy. And if it isn't you, then it's probably the guy that invented green or Patrick Stump."

"Noone invented green, slinthead."

"It's a joke, Dieson, kinda like your music tastes."

Thomas jumped out of the car, and followed Minho inside. His head was still swirling with thoughts and confusion. Mostly of the upcoming event and his lack of a female partner for said event, and now he had the stranger with a limp in the back of his mind. He couldn't explain why, but he felt like he should find him. Ask why he was there so late after hours. Why he has a limp.

Thomas quickly pushed these out of his head and flopped onto Minho's couch, kicking his shoes off and rolling onto his stomach.

"What happened to exciting Friday night?" Thomas asked. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms out, like he expected Minho to high five him or something.

"What did you have in mind?"

"We could go grab some dinner."

"Damn that's exciting. A little too exciting." Minho grabbed his chest and faked a little heart attack. Thomas was used to his sarcasm at this point, knowing someone for almost five years makes you a little bit resistant to it. Yet it still managed to earn a little annoyed sigh or roll of the eyes from him.

Thomas rolled back onto his stomach, groaning into the pillow. "Just shut up and get ready, I'm starving."


	3. Coffee and Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, the cute blonde likes cars and Thomas' music. That's great and all, but Thomas still isn't sure he's feeling it quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stILL SUCK  
> But hey Newt is important now damn.

Thomas' heart practically ripped a giant gash through his chest and climbed out into the street when he saw the stranger with the limp at the diner. He was sitting at the bar, flipping aimlessly through the pages of a textbook. (It looked like chemistry.) Minho hit Thomas on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Look at that, your limpy boyfriend's here." He snickered. Thomas ignored him and took a seat in the booth across from Minho. He couldn't help but glance over at the boy reading his textbook frequently, hoping Minho wouldn't notice.

Up close, he wasn't anything like what Thomas expected, and Thomas wasn't even sure what he expected in the first place. The boy had blonde hair, ashy and pale, yet the light made it look darker. It seemed like it didn't know whether it was curly or straight, because it seemed to think some parts of it were one, and vice versa. It was cut a little bit below his ears, flicking outwards in the back. His face was soft with its features, and his skin was pale and free from any sort of blemish or mark. He had orangey-yellow eyes, that almost seemed like a golden shade. They were focused on whatever lessons he was reading at that moment. Below his lips were two small black hoop piercings in each corner of his mouth. It seemed rather out of character, considering the only people Thomas had really seem with piercings were the lead singers of those death-metal scream bands that he had little knowledge of.

Awkwardly enough, Thomas thought he was pretty. It was a strange thought, honestly. But he couldn't deny that he thought the boy was pretty. In his gray hoodie and his dark jeans and his red high topped Converse-

He was pretty.

Minho looked at Thomas suspiciously, before finally catching him staring at the stranger.

"Dude, come on. What's the deal? You know him or something? Did he murder your family as a child and now you have to seek ultimate revenge?" Minho whispered sarcastically. Thomas poked nervously at his food, before looking up at the stranger at the bar again.

Thomas couldn't help but stare at him. It was like seeing a wild animal, something new and bizarre and confusing all at the same time. And yet, he didn't feel like he should get any closer than he was already. He had a strange irrational fear that he might bite. Thomas and Minho finished their food in near-awkward silence, with Minho giving up on trying to hold conversation after catching Thomas staring at the blonde for the 43rd time. It was almost as if Thomas was taking mental pictures of him, with every blink the shutter of a camera clicking, and his pupils being the aperture, winding every feature of the stranger.

Thomas found himself once again in a parking lot staring at a strange boy with a limp. The stranger was leaned up against the hood of his beat up car, smoking a cigarette puffing jets of smoke into the cold winter air. This time, however, Thomas was much, much closer to the him. Close enough to notice all of the little details that he missed the last encounters. Thomas climbed into the car, sighing as he slid down into the seat. Minho started the car again, and in a second the sound of Fall Out Boy was echoing through the car, much to Minho's distaste.

Somehow, this caught the attention of the stranger. He looked over at them, before smiling slightly. The car made a gross clanking sound before grinding against itself and stopping.

"Shit. Thomas, can you get out and pop the hood?" Minho asked, annoyance filling his voice. Thomas opened the door and strided out to the front of the car, lifting the silver hood in a cloud of smoke. Thomas fidgeted with the motor, coughing as he waved the smoke out of the air. He grabbed at the machinery, telling Minho to either start or stop the car several times

"Hey."

The voice made Thomas jump so quickly he smacked his head against the hood, rubbing the spot gingerly. He turned around to find the stranger with the limp standing barely and inch from his face. Thomas yelped and stumbled backwards into the car before steadying himself in from of the blonde boy.

"Jesus! Don't do that...!" Thomas gasped, furrowing his eyebrows at the boy. The taller male laughed, sliding his left hand into his pocket and flicking his cigarette with the other.

"I'm sorry." He smiled. Thomas noted his expression. He was definitely not sorry, and his smirk showed that he didn't plan on admitting it. His breath smelled like a mix of coffee and smoke. It was an odd smell, and Thomas wasn't sure if he disliked it or not.

Thomas cleared his throat, and turned back around to the motor. "Yeah well, it's fine. But I uh, yeah I'm a little occupied."

The stranger reached over Thomas and pulled at a wire before moving his hands into the motor. Thomas froze and glared at the blonde. "Hey! Look I-"

"Tell your friend to start the car." The stranger said. Thomas coughed and waved his hand up. Minho raised an eyebrow and punched the gas. The car revved up and Minho stared at them, eyes wide with confusion and shock.

"Wh-?" Thomas began, but the boy interrupted quickly.

"I like your music tastes. Patrick Stump. Great musician. Heard you playing it earlier."

Thomas stood there in awe, wondering who the hell this kid was and why he had never seen him in his life. The stranger smirked and laughed, taking another puff of smoke, before turning his head away from Thomas to exhale.

"Thanks...?" Thomas managed to stutter out. His face felt hot and his mind felt conflicted. He tried to convince himself that his red cheeks were from the cold and not from the pretty blonde standing a few inches away from his face. His eyes looked even more bright up close, almost as if Thomas lit them up-

What the hell was he thinking?

"What's your name?"

Thomas thought for a long second, like he had forgotten his name. The stranger didn't speak again until Thomas managed to cough out his own name.

"T-Thomas. Thomas Dieson."

The stranger smiled at him. He seemed to being smiling a lot during this little meeting, turning up the corners of his mouth where his little dark piercings shimmered slightly. He had a warm smile, like something that could make anyone feel like something was right.

"I'm Isaac Newton. But ah, don't call me that. I like Newt."

Thomas was a little put off, as if he was telling him this like they were going to ever talk or see each other again. Something that Thomas didn't really feel like thinking about. But he couldn't help being a little curious about the blonde, wondering all sorts of things and forming tons of different assumptions.

"Isaac Newton...? You were named after the scientist?" Thomas questioned. It was weird, the boy suddenly looked a little bit more like an Isaac, and even though it was weird, Thomas thought it was kinda cool. Newt laughed, closing his eyes and smirking yet again.

"Yeah. My dad's last name was Newton, and I guess no one in my family was ever very creative, so I got stuck with the obvious joke." Newt replied, not taking his eyes off of Thomas. Thomas noted several things about the kid. His defined jawline, his accent- oh yeah, he definitely had an accent. His expressions were disarming. They didn't seem threatening or friendly or even flirtatious. It was more a look of genuine interest in him, which made Thomas a little unnerved, but in a sort of charming way... if that's a thing.

"Yeah... yeah okay um... Thanks-Thanks for the help with the uh... car. I uh, I should go now." Thomas closed the hood and headed towards the door. Before he hopped in, he faced Newt and let out a nervous sigh. "Bye... uh... Newt."

Newt shrugged and smiled, dropping his cigarette lightly stepping it out on the asphalt. He turned around and starting heading back to his car. Minho looked expectantly at Thomas, waiting for him to give an explanation. Thomas couldn't focus however, just watching Newt head back to his car. The memories of what he said already seeming to fade out of his mind, but the smells of coffee and cigarettes still fresh in his head. He kept staring at him, only noticing one feature.

He really did have a limp.


	4. Lessons in Deep Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is becoming self aware and Minho is determined to play matchmaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!! I hope you enjoy this one. Also this one has a little Thomresa in it, but I promise Newt will be relevant again ahah.

The week dragged on painfully slow, and Thomas' patience ran quicker than he did. It felt like someone had opened his head and flicked off his 'caring' switch, because he didn't do a lot of that. Class. Track. Dance prep. Home. Sleep. Repeat. Thomas was basically going through an existental crisis at 16. Everywhere around him, people enjoyed their lives, boys and girls, teachers, hell the janitor seemed more excited about new self-soaping sponges than Thomas was about his current situation. No date, no motivation. He wondered how he managed high school up to this point without rolling himself under his bed and never coming back out. 

Thomas showed up on Thursday feeling like a wrung out towel, wanting to sink to the locker room floor so noone would see him. Minho however, always saw Thomas. Thomas sulked into the bench, resting his head against the cold metal lockers, groaning a groan of sheer annoyance.

"Did you pull a muscle or are you still upset about nothing?" Minho mused, sitting next to his friend. Thomas rolled his head towards him, before pulling his knees up to his chest. 

"I'm upset because I don't have anything to be upset about." Thomas muttered through the denim of his jeans. 

"I uh, yeah sure okay. That's unfortunate I suppose." Minho gave Thomas a hesitant pat on the back before sighing and trying to pull him back into the situation.

"You're upset because... you're bored?" 

Thomas threw his arms up, before letting out an agitated moan and covered his face with his hands. Minho held his hands up defensively, as if we expected Thomas to pull a gun on him and monolouge about how important this mental journey was to him and why Minho was not to intervene. Instead, he just slid into the bench more.

"Yes Minho. To put it in...Minho terms- yes. I'm bored." 

Minho furrowed his eyebrows, not sure whether or not he should be offended or not. 

"Okay well, why don't you stop being bored and start being excited about something for once. Winter Formal is tomorrow, then it's winter break, which means no more track practice until the season starts, no more Coach Janson's bullcrap, and no more staying extra after school to play with ribbons and talk to limpy outcasts." 

Limp.

Newt.

Thomas hadn't thought about Newt in days, almost too caught up in his own thoughts to even have the capacity to even think about thinking about him. It's not like he didn't want to, Newt sparked his interests somehow, but it seemed like the kid practically disappeared. He never saw him around campus, or heard his name. Occasionally, his car would appear in the mornings, dissapear at lunch, then show up again after track. Yet the owner of the car was never to be found. 

Thomas snapped himself out of his foggy daydream, blinking his mind out of it. Minho cocked an eyebrow at him, before pulling him up to his feet. 

"Okay, well, you still need a date. You're a Wicked High Glader and Wicked High Gladers get dates." Minho smiled.

Thomas couldn't help but crack a light grin at him, before leaning against the tile walls to begin his argument on why that was a really not accurate statement. Thomas didn't really want a date. Noone at the school really perked his interests, atleast not in the whole teenage hormones way. There were plenty of lovely girls, nice and funny, yet Thomas couldn't bring himself to have any feelings for any of them. It got so bad that in Sophmore year he started to think he was broken. It's not like he didn't like people, but he never found himself in a relationship where he felt like they were equals. 

Minho bit his cheek, before opening his eyes in understanding. 

"Just ask Teresa, just for Friday." Minho said with confidence, crossing his arms, like he had just achieved something really, really important. 

Thomas frowned, before opening his mouth just to close it again.

"Ah? See? I'm full of really, really good ideas, Thomas." Minho lovingly sneered at Thomas.

Thomas let out a deep breath, as if he was dissapointed in Minho's answer.

"Teresa and I have known eachother for like... 10 years. It'd be super weird. Like taking my sister."

"You don't have a sister."

"I can't ask Teresa, that'd be super weird dude." 

Thomas groaned as if this was the most obvious notion ever, like Minho was missing the most obvious hint ever. Yet, he couldn't help feeling like maybe he wasn't so wrong. There wasn't really anything 'bad' about asking Teresa, and if they were just going as friends, it's not as if there was going to be a bunch of drama about how heartthrob Thomas Dieson is officially off the market, or whatever stupid term they used. Fucking teenagers.

"Okay Minho. You win. I'll ask Teresa if she wants to go. If she doesn't already have a date." 

Minho smiled brightly, before whacking Thomas on the back with high enthusiasm. "There you go buddy! No sense in letting your mid-life crisis pull you down." 

Thomas rolled his eyes, something that he felt like he had been doing a lot lately. He allowed Minho to drag him out of the locker room to look for Teresa. He was mildly excited, Teresa was his best friend after all, behind the track team of course. Sure, they had their fare share of problems, but it's unhealthy if best friends don't. 

But ever since Minho brought it up, Thomas couldn't get one thing out of his mind on their search for Teresa.

And that was the blonde English boy named Newt.


	5. Snowblind and Platonically Lovestruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas asks Teresa to the dance, and Minho and Thomas play winter slip-n-slide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more Thomresa, aaah !!!! OKAY ITS A SLOW BUILD IM SORRY I PROMISE ITLL GET THERE THE NEXT CHAPTER IS A GOOD ONE PROMIS

The crisp, cold air dusted lightly over the campus, leaving an icy sheath from the winter rain on the sidewalks and lots. It was slick and uneven, yet somewhat mesmerising, allowing the world to look like a fantasy painting, with icecicles and sometimes blankets of snow to accent it. Winter was Thomas' favorite season. It let him have solitary time, where he could be around his friends and family, and not have to worry about holding up some social duty. He knew Minho was a summer person, yet he still insisted that Thomas and he would still be outside as much as possible in the freezing weather. Minho dragged him from the locker rooom and along the pathways, slipping and laughing next him. Thomas smiled, watching Minho flail around like a baby horse on the ice slicked sidewalk.

"Congratulations Minho Minos, you've won the olympic gold in men's figure skating!" Thomas chuckled, whacking Minho's arm. Minho laughed and shoved him into the nearby column, making Thomas land flat on his butt. 

"All right shank, time to find Teresa." Minho sneered, towering over Thomas. Thomas stumbled to his feet before brushing the ice off of his sweater. 

"You were so intent shoving me to the football field that I have this suspicion that you know exactly where she is." 

Minho simply winked and grabbed Thomas' arm again before they were once again playing balance beam on the ice. The football field was covered in sleet, making it look like it had been like this for years. The football field was never really used, as everyone knew track was where the real sport was. Lucky Thomas. 

Thomas and Minho stepped through the field, the grass crunching underneath their shoes. Across the field, in the bleachers, a girl sat. Thomas immediately knew it was Teresa from the dark hair and bored expression. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled into the stands, with Minho trailing behind him.

Teresa was sitting cross-legged on the bleachers, a textbook settled firmly in her lap as she jotted down notes in a notebook to her right. Her black hair was pulled up in a messy bun, leaving strands to fall aimlessly in her face. She was wearing a tan blouse, with a heavy fur coat over it, along with blue jeans and her favorite lace up boots.   
The silver bangles on her wrists jangled as she wrote. 

"Yo, Agnes!" Minho called from the bottom of the bleachers. She looked up from her book, before seeing the two boys and smiling. 

"Hey Tom. Minho." She said, her voice sweet and somewhat intimidating. Thomas climbed up next to her, stretching his legs up over her textbook. Teresa rolled her eyes at him, and began to pretend to scribble on his jeans. Minho stood in front of the two, rocking his heels back and forth on the metal seats.

"It's not as cold as I thought it would be." Thomas began, trying to ease into the conversation. Teresa shrugged, pulling at the fabric on Thomas' pants. 

"It's going to warm up quicker than I thought this year. I'm ready to stop wearing coats fit for the Alps." She mused. Thomas stretched more, before dropping the question. 

"So it's late notice. But dance tommorow, so- go with me? As friends, or enemies. Whichever you prefer."

Teresa laughed, pushing Thomas' legs off of her lap, and rubbed her chin like she was thinking like a true high school dance scholar. 

"Why of course, sir Dieson. How lovely of you to ask." Teresa said with a mockingly regal accent. Thomas stood up and faked a bow, before Minho started clapping and shouting something along the lines of "O dear King Thomas and the lowly peasant Teresa." Teresa stuck her tounge out at him, before he did the same. Thomas always knew they didn't get along, but he knew Minho put up with it because of how much he knew Teresa meant to him.

Now, he would never date Teresa. Ever. They were siblings, practically. Joined at the hip for years. They loved like siblings and fought like them too. Thomas had no interest in taking Teresa other than satisfiying Minho's desires to have him not show up alone. Besides, Thomas wanted to keep an open mind in terms of relationships. He felt like something-or someone- was lingering in that spot. He honestly couldn't grasp it. The cute girl in chemistry? The barista at Starbucks? Nothing connected, and no matter how he tried, nothing triggered it. 

Oddly enough, nothing except the words smoke, blonde, piercing, and limp.


	6. Concussions and Cute Blondes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Minho find themselves in a small autoshop on the other side of town, and Thomas reunites with an old... parking lot buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER OH DAMN THIS CHAPTER THIS IS IT 5 CHAPTERS LATER HERE WE ARE BUDDY O MAN ENJOY

The slow flurry came seeming out of nowhere. Snow poured down onto the city, and wind brushed itself across trees and houses, rattling leaves and windows. Thomas and Minho's drive home was cut off abrupty by the blocked roads and strong winds. Minho's car had deciced to peel out onto the asphalt and skid into a snowbank, which took them a few minutes to manage to push free of. Minho was forced to take a detour down the side of town that was least slicked in snow, to find somewhere safe to stop. 

"This is fucking ridiculous." Minho groaned, hands gribbing the wheel firmly. Thomas sat next to him, nervously tapping the dashboard. The storm was becoming so bad, that they might've had to straight up stop in the road and risk freezing to death of getting mugged in a snowstorm. They did, however manage to find themselves in a small slum-like neighborhood, filled with small alleyways and dilapidated shops. It definitely was still inhabited, however, it seemed like a ghost town in the white flush of ice.

"Minho, I think theres an auto shop there." Thomas said, squinting through the frosted window. Minho took a sharp turn, pulling into one of the garages. Thomas hoped the owner wouldn't mind if they managed to stay here for awhile while the storm calmed down. Minho kept the car running before turning to Thomas.

"Okay, we jump out and make a run for the building." Minho said, biting his lip.

"That can't be safe." Thomas said with great distrust of Minho's idea.

"Probably not. But we shouldn't stay here."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do-" Thomas started, before Minho cut him off with a snarky "blah blah blah just move."

Thomas opened his door, and had little time to process his surroundings before making a mad dash to the shop. He skidded across the icy ground, slosed through the snow, was blown back into Minho a few times from the cold gusts, and even fell into the powdered ground several times before even making it somewhat close to the door. Before he knew it, he found himself unable to see and slamming into something hard and tall and very, very painful.

Thomas fell flat on his back, knocking the wind out of his lungs, as he heaved for air. He felt a knot already forming on his forehead. His body sank into the snow below him, the world becoming blurry around him. Suddenly, a figure appeared above him. At first, it appeared that Minho had found him, however, the more his vision came back, the more panicked he became. It was the outline of a girl standing over him. Thomas let out a groan, shaking his head in the sleet below him. The figure crossed her arms, and leaned in closer, before smiling.

"Hey Newt! This yours?"

\--  
Thomas woke up to the sound of light laughter and whispers. His mind was a blur of thoughts, and his head pounded with pain. He struggled upward, realizing he was on a couch, covered with a blanket. He looked around the room he was in. It was a small-ish garage, various parts and tires were strung across the room. The garage door was closed, although it rattled quietly, Thomas assumed from the storm outside. He thought about what had happened, falling in the snow and seeing a girl over him, speaking to another that he couldn't see.

She was speaking to Newt. The Newt he had met. His Newt. 

Across the room, a girl and a guy sat, laughing. He turned to his left to see Minho sleeping, curled up in an armchair to his side, a blanket draped over him. Thomas rubbed his forehead, groaning softly. The girl turned towards him, before smiling and making her way to him. 

"Awake?" She mused. Thomas stared at her with curiosity. She was incredibly cute and small, her facial features soft, unlike Teresa's dramatic features. She had long brown hair, messily draped underneath a gray beanie. She had black plugs in her ears, along with an array of other piercings in them, yet her face of clear of any sort of unnatural anything, like makeup or jewelry. She sported a black band T-shirt, ripped black jeans, and red vans. She looked like danger and risk, yet her smile was sweet and filled with warmth. Thomas rubbed his forehead, before stuttering out.

"I am now." 

The girl laughed, hitting him on the shoulder. She turned to the man behind her, smiling broadly. 

"Look Jorge, he's not dead. This one's a keeper." 

The man, presumably Jorge, didn't look much too older than Thomas. Maybe 20, 23. He was covered in snow and grime, and had a blue button up on, with a nametag reading Jorge. 

"Good for him. Hey kid, feeling okay?" Jorge asked, pulling himself to stride towards Thomas. Thomas continued feeling the bump on his head, whining at the pain every time he put pressure on it. Jorge looked and the girl, and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Get this poor kid some ice, would you? And find Isaac while you're at it. That boy is always dissapearing." He mused. 

Isaac.  
Newt was here. 

Thomas' eyes widened as he processed the last sentence. Before he could ask questions, the girl spoke up. 

"I'm Brenda." She smiled, before running out of the room. Jorge took up a chair across the couch, and rested his elbows on his knees. 

"I'm Jorge, and this is my family's auto shop. That's Brenda. She works here. There's also Isaac. He's here too. You smashed your head into a metal pole. Your friend here stayed with you and we brought you both here. Any questions."

Thomas blinked, feeling slightly put off by the man's so matter-of-fact statement. Before he could stop himself, he had already sputtered out his words.

"Isaac Newton?" 

Jorge raised an eyebrow and nodded, crossing his arms. 

"What's your name, muchacho?" Jorge asked. 

"Thomas." 

Jorge nodded some more, and got to his feet. 

"Well Thomas, once your friend wakes up and the storm clears out, we'll fix up your car and send you on your way. Until then, anything you need?" 

Thomas shook his head, and thanked him for the help. Jorge smacked him on the arm and walked out of the room. Thomas sighed, nervously looking around the room. He considered waking up Minho, but decided a tired, cranky Minho was not the best idea in the current situation. 

Thomas walked up to the door, preparing to open it and go looking for Brenda, the only person he could think of to talk to. Before he grabbed the door handle, the door swung open, whacking him in the forehead again.

"Ow-Fuck!" Thomas cried out. He opened his eyes, rubbing the spot and biting his lip, before stumbling backward. A hand grabbed his, pulling him back up. He steadied himself, looking at the person directly in front of him.

"Hey Thomas Dieson." The voice responded. "Sorry, you okay?" 

Newt stood in front of him, holding his body to his. Thomas yelped and stumbled again, this time falling to the floor. Newt snorted and grabbed Thomas again, pulling him to his feet. 

"I... ow, god." Thomas groaned, holding his hand to his forehead. Newt flashed him that lopsided smile, his piercings upturning slightly. 

"Don't worry, Brenda's finding you some ice for that. You sure took a blow out there, guess you have less coordination than me." Newt mused to Thomas, leaning weight into his bad leg.

"Yeah, I naturally attract metal poles." Thomas groaned. 

"And blonde outsiders, clearly." A voice said from the chair in the room. Minho had woken up, laughing at the two. Thomas realized he was still holding Newt's hand pressed against him. His face flushed as he pulled his hand away. Brenda appeared with the ice, as Thomas held it to his head, Newt took a seat on the couch next to him. Thomas thought for a second. He couldn't stop wondering about Newt the entire week. And suddenly, the gods had pushed Newt right into him. Right in front of him, with his messy blonde hair and orange eyes and calm smile.

And he's sorta glad they did.


	7. A New Begining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snow settled down, and so does Newt. You know... next to Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM REALLY SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK
> 
> THE ENDING IS ALSO VERY RUSHED IM REALLY SORRY OH GOSH

"Oh! Oh! I got it! The Breakfast Club!"

"Bingo!"

Jorge and Brenda laughed as the two were in a very heated game of charades, with Brenda beating Jorge by a landslide. The snowstorm had calmed down enough so that the foggy road was barely visible outside the garage windows. Thomas stuck by Minho's side, slightly off put by the new and strange people around him. His head still spun every once and awhile, making the room seem even more hectic than it already was. But then there was Newt, huddled in a warm chair, headphones in, eyes closed, his breathing slow and rythmic. Thomas felt a sort of odd aura in the room. He had never spoken to any of these people for more than a few sentences, yet they seemed more real than any friends he had prior, Minho excluded of course. 

Minho pulled Thomas aside, looking suspiciously around the small room. He pulled Thomas' ear to his lips, before whispering harshly, causing Thomas to cringe. 

"The storm better lighten up soon. We should be leaving. It's almost 6. PM." Thomas rolled his eyes, pushing Minho away from him.

"Yeah Minho, I know it's PM. It's not like we're here at 4 in the morning. And what, you don't like spending some quality time with some strangers?" Thomas hissed back.

"No-it's not that. I just, I don't know. Everyone seems all outcast buddy-buddy, then there's us."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, scanning the room to make sure noone was paying attention. Jorge and Brenda were occupied watching some cat video on Brenda's phone, and Newt was still zoning out in the corner. 

"What's wrong with us? And don't call them... outcasts." Thomas stretched his words out uncomfortably long, wrinking his eyebrows at the word outcast. It made him feel uneasy, like he was using a really offensive slur, yet it's not like he felt Minho was...wrong. He suddenly wanted to hit himself for thinking that.

"Thomas, I'm not saying they aren't nice people, but they aren't on our spectrum. We have our zone, and they have theirs." Minho glanced at Newt, examining him, like he was mapping out his every detail. Not in the way Thomas did it though, Minho did it with cold curiosity. Like he wanted to say that he was staring at Newt strictly for science. Convienently, Newt had opened a sleepy brown eye at that moment to notice Minho sending him a calculating glare. He stared back for a few seconds while the two exchanged some awkward eye contact, while Thomas rested his face in his hands.

Thomas considered trying to make conversation with someone other than Minho, yet he couldn't find the strength to actually initiate conversation, and instead found himself pretending to be in conversations with the others, trying to think of things they'd find interesting, until he looked up and found himself face to face with the blonde kid again, for what? The third time? 

Thomas flinched again, throwing his back into the sofa. Newt laughed, and took a seat rather close to Thomas. Thomas cleared his throat, trying not to draw attention to himself, feeling like if he says something wrong Newt would hate him forever- even though he didn't really seem like that kind of guy. 

"Sorry, I should probably announce my presence before sneaking up on people like that." The older boy smiled. Thomas cracked a nervous grin before diverting his attention to Minho, who was arguing with Brenda over the lore of Halo 1-3. Including DLC.

"So Tommy, your friend and Brenda are getting along well." Newt mused, his arms behind his head. Thomas laughed a little, to his suprise. Yet, it was strange hearing Newt calling him "Tommy." Newt was practically a stranger, yet he felt an odd homely sense around him.

"They're both giant nerds I suppose." Thomas smirked, folding his arms. Newt chuckled and smiled at Thomas, before reaching for Thomas' phone. Thomas was taken aback a little bit, but for some strange reason, he allowed Newt to remove his phone from his lap and watched as he tapped and typed. He placed it back onto Thomas' leg, and walked towards the window, before stating that the storm was clear enough for them to go.

Everyone said their goodbyes, and the two guests packed up their car and headed home. Thomas flicked through his phone, before recieving a new message from a new number. The name was under Limpy Outcast. 

":^)"

Wonderful. Now the blonde from the parking lot had slowly worked his way into Thomas' life. And he felt like it wasn't going to be easy to get him out.

Not that he wanted him out, of course.


	8. A Shot in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dances are stupid, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I NEVER POSTED THIS, THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN DONE FOR MONTHS IM SO SORRY

It was stupid. Unbelieveably stupid in fact. So stupid, that Thomas was practically rolling around in his own regret and self-hatred. Here he was, the night of Winter Formal, all tux'd up and snazzy like, about to pick up his gorgeous best friend and have a damn good time if it killed him. But instead of really doing any of those things, he sat on the edge of his bed, staring with burning hatred at his cellphone, thinking of the perfect string of letters to send to some stupid senior he met a few times in a parking lot and once when he basically busted his brains out on an icy pole.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of anything. Not a single witty joke or clever icebreaker or even a simple hey. Everything seemed so hard with Newt. Talking, thinking, breathing- It was all like an uphill climb for Thomas, and he had absolutely NO idea why. He barely knew him for more than a few days, and knew virtually nothing about him. 

He liked Fall Out Boy. Check. He drove a black car of unidentifiable model. Check. He liked chemistry and plays Halo a lot. Check. He smokes. Minus check, but that could always be fixed. He had an (admittedly incredibly attractive) accent. Check. He has a limp...check? 

Thomas deleted the sevententh draft and threw his face into his pillow. Why couldn't Newt just text first? Isn't that code or something? Was Thomas the girl in this situation? All he wanted was to create some light banter before he went off to some useless dance just to pretend he didn't have a strange curiosity in a boy that almost no one had ever heard of. 

Whatever. 

Thomas eventually gave up, and sulked all the way from Teresa's to Winter Formal. 

WHS was known for being ridiculously wealthy, being able to afford all sorts of ridiculous things like pointless statues, sports equipment, and bizarre science tools, like strange serums and machines that no one was supposed to touch aside from faculty. Because of this, their dance ended up being held in the most prestegious hotel known to man. Atleast, high-school level man. 

The ballroom was littered with all of Thomas and Minho's stupid decorations, along with a raised stage and a DJ that looked far too excited to be having a gig at a High School dance. Teresa clung onto Thomas' arm, as he scanned the floor for any familiar faces.

There was Gally, arms crossed in the corner, looking absolutely miserable. Alby, dancing warmly with his debate club, and the little Freshmen Chuck, who just looked excited to be alive, let alone there. 

Thomas smiled at the sight of his friends. No matter how bad things felt as of late, they always seemed to be the one's that grounded him to reality. And he loved that about them. 

"Tom?" 

A voice cut through Thomas' moment of appreciation, to find Teresa looking at him curiously. 

"Your phone's been going off now for about 2 minutes. And I know you're all fancy popular but you should probably pick it up." Teresa smirked, before signaling that she was going to have actual interractions with other people, unlike Thomas, who just kinda...pretended to have them. Mentally. 

He clicked his phone only to squint at the brightness of the screen. The only new notifications were a missed call and a text from Minho, and a simple text from Limpy Outcast.

"Oh shit." 

Thomas huffed, before shakily unlocking his phone to view the heart-stopping note. His eyes panned over the words almost too quickly to comprehend what he was even reading.

"Hey Tommy, you went to the dance right? Having fun? :^)" 

Newt was almost too gentle and kind that Thomas could feel his heart exploding rainbows and kittens right there.  
"I suppose. A little let down you didn't come." 

There. That wasn't too clingy or weird. It was plain and honest. Thomas sighed a sigh of relief as he collapsed in a nearby chair off to the side of all of the action. He tugged at his tie, feeling a little stressed already, and he hadn't been there for more than a half an hour.  
Shortly after, his phone pinged with a new alert, sending Thomas into a short panic. What if that was too weird?  
He grimaced at the screen, before opening his eyes to the message.

"Haha, when did I say I didn't come?"

And almost immediately, Thomas jerked his head up to the sight of a dressed up Newt, hands in his pockets, smiling warmly at him.


	9. Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas really, really hated dances, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT MY OLD WRITING WAS TERRIBLE U ALL DESERVE MEDALS FOR PUTTING UP W THIS SHIT ALSO I saw Scorch Trials twice today...literally...as soon as the movie ended I saw the very next showing. It was amazing. *^* Creative liberties aside. It inspired me to write more of this, so. ??? enjoy idk
> 
> yes the title is a Blink-182 reference how about u stop judging me you shallow bastard (im kidding i love you

"Oh fuck."

Thomas might've not realized it, but the words slipped from his mouth a lot faster than he anticipated. He gazed over his shoulder, anxiously looking for Teresa, or Minho, or any sort of social krutch. Unfortunately, the two more social of the three had abandoned Thomas to converse and enjoy their night, not wanting to have a pessimist like Thomas around them, restricting their fun.

He felt his face heat up, his phone slowly slipping from his grip. He caught it as it fell between his fingers, making his embarassment even more apparent. Thomas swallowed, continuing to look over his shoulder as if someone was going to stab him at a High School dance. Newt simply stood there, cocking his head in amusement as he watched as Thomas became more and more of a mess. It felt like Thomas' legs started moving on their own, instinctively making a beeline towards the source of his flushed face and unstable hands. He walked up to Newt, pulling at the edges of his dress jacket, looking solemnly at the polished floor, giving him a chance to see his cluttered reflection.

"Are you okay? You look like someone just killed your puppy." Newt laughed. His 'a's rolled perfectly off of his accent, his smile warm and inviting, yet Thomas couldn't help feeling like someone had dumped ice water over him. A part of him wished he was washed over with ice water. It would've atleast justified his bizarre behavior.

"N-no, I'm just..I'm just nervous, I suppose." Thomas forced out a smile, still avoiding looking Newt directly in the eyes. "Sorry if this comes off as rude but...why are you here?"

 

Newt smirked and pulled his hands out of his pocket, placing two fingers over the large bruise over Thomas' forehead. The bruise was pretty old now, but was still sore to any sort of pressure. Thomas flinched at the sudden touch, but eventually stood there awkwardly for the few seconds while Newt simply smiled at him, like he knew something he didn't.

"Well, for one, I wanted to make sure you didn't get any permanent brain damage from your little meeting with the lamppost, but judging by the fact you aren't falling over your own feet I'd say you're fine there." Newt mused, moving his hands back into his pockets. "Also, does me being at a school dance seriously suprise you that much? Or am I just too weird and too lonely for that sort of thing." Newt responded, his friendly smile spreading across his face again.Thomas widened his eyes, suddenly feeling remorseful about his words.

"No! That's not what I meant, I mean- I just sorta thought this wasn't really your scene, I mean-" Newt cut him off with a chuckle.

"Tommy. I'm kidding." The blonde laughed, placing a hand on Thomas' shoulder. He jumped a bit, again not being prepared for any sort of touch from the near stranger. He wanted to tell him that he'd been on his mind for days now, not in a creepy sort of way, but in a sense of curiosity and intriguing nature. Or...maybe it was creepy. Thomas wasn't really sure of the difference anymore.

"So, did you come with anyone?" Newt said, snapping Thomas back to reality. "Oh! Um, yeah. My friend Teresa. She's...somewhere." Newt stared forward at Thomas, making his nerves way worse than they were about ten minutes ago. God, Newt was attractive. Especially now, he had him fully to himself. His beautiful eyes, dark and kind, were a shade of almost gold under the fluorescent lights. His blonde hair was perfectly over just the tops of his eyes in a horribly unkempt fashion, yet Thomas couldn't imagine it any other way. He felt his stomach tense up with the older male staring at him so keenly.

In almost an instant, Newt's calm demeanor turned into a tangled mess of emotions and feelings. He coughed before rubbing his arms together. Thomas raised an eyebrow, worrying that he had said something to upset his new friend...if he could even call him a friend yet.

"Do...Do you want to dance?" Newt sheepishly questioned.

Thomas was definitely not expecting that.

Newt was nervous asking him. Thomas made Newt nervous. He made Newt nervous. Him.

"Oh um...I...I can't dance." Thomas quietly replied, allowing Newt's gaze to stare daggers into him.

"That's okay, I can't dance either. It doesn't have to be real dancing, but hey...if I make you uncomfortable, then I can just-"

Thomas cut Newt off before he even thought about the possibility that he didn't like Newt. "No, you're really wonderful to be around, seriously! I just, I'm not good with...people, or um... I'm just not...good." Thomas said, a painful smile creeping across his mouth.

Newt simply pulled his wrist and dragged him into a smaller corner of the floor, as the pace of the music shifted, leaving the fast paced beat for a mellow waltzing tune. Thomas felt his hands shake as he moved closer to Newt. Newt simply laughed and slowly pushed Thomas back.

"Tommy, seriously. If you're uncomfortable or you'd rather dance with Teresa, just tell me. I'm not a psychic." Newt said solemnly.

"Seriously, that's not it. You just...intimidate me, that's all. Not in a bad intimidate way, in an 'oh my god he's talking to me what do I do what if I look stupid' sort of way." Thomas firmly stated, looking at Newt in the eyes. He wanted him to get the idea that he really liked him, without formally admitting it.

"You mean like a crush?" Newt suddenly spoke. His smile was furrowed into a mischievous grin, eyebrows cocked upward. Thomas felt all the blood rush into his face, his eyes widening in shock.

"I-"

Thomas barely got a syllable out before Newt was grabbing his wrists again and pulling him towards him.

"I was kidding. Again." Newt giggled, placing his hands lightly over Thomas' waist. Thomas instinctively pressed himself to Newt, attempting to wrap his arms around Newt's waist as well.  Thomas suddenly realized what he was doing and clenched his jaw in anxiety before slowly moving his arms up to Newt's shoulders instead.

He had danced with more girls than he could count, and he had always just shared the awkward swaying and the small girth of the girl's waist around his hands. But this was completely new to him. Newt's height and his scent and his overall feel on Thomas' emotions made Thomas feel almost overwhelmed. He suddenly wanted to make sure no one was watching them, afraid of what the track team would say, or what they would think. But whenever he saw Newt, or even thought about him, he suddenly didn't care. It was cliche and dumb, but he couldn't care less. Newt was the first person he felt truly comfortable around. Thomas felt his face heat up again at the thought of this, as the two moved lazily to the rhythm of the music, Newt holding him close to his body. He didn't care about all the other students getting wasted or banging in the parking lot. At that moment, he just wanted to be there, with his near stranger, feeling like he was in a sort of numb dream.

Suddenly, his moment of comfort and warmth was interrupted by the sounds of snickering and camera shutters. Newt let go of Thomas when the Junior jerked backwards, turning to find the other teens making disgusted faces and chortling cruel remarks.

_Oh shit, Thomas is gay_

_No way, what will coach say?_

_Don't be stupid, coach won't let fags on the team._

_Please tell me you got that on video?_

A voice cut through the murmurs, as its owner pushed his way through the crowd. It was Minho, followed by Teresa, the two shooting dirty looks to the onlookers.

"How about you all shut the fuck up and stop acting like twelve year old pricks." Minho snapped at the circle, before walking towards Thomas, who could barely even speak, his entire face had gone a ghostly white. He felt tears welling up in some part of him, but he didn't even have the strength to cry at the moment. Newt stared at Thomas, a look of pure heartbreaking sadness and desperation.

"Tommy-" Newt started, before Thomas closed his eyes, clenching his fists, and pushing through the crowd of people as they hollered and hissed at him. Minho and Teresa took off after Thomas. Thomas found himself in the parking lot, his head pounding with the voices of everyone he had seen and heard that night. He could hear Teresa and Minho calling for him in the distance, but he made no attempt to follow their voices. He didn't want to see them, he didn't want to see anyone.

He didn't know where to go. He was alone at night in the Denver suburbs, where he was supposed to go was completely lost on him. He just knew he was going to run, since running was all he was ever really good at. He was running. Away from Teresa, away from Minho, and most importantly,

 

Far, far away from Newt.


	10. In a Melody of Tears...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gaps in posting, ive been busy as heck. :p  
> Also tHIS CHAPTER IS A LOT OF EXPOSITION SO SORRY BUT IM REALLY PROUD OF IT
> 
> oh and overuse of the ellipses bc why not

It might've been a park if wasn't for the lines of headstones standing idle like shadowy figures in the cold. 

Thomas had spaced out for the last couple of blocks, his legs starting to give way from the exertion and running in a tuxedo while winter rain froze him to death. His hair was slicked to his forehead, the rain rolling down his face, mixing with bitter tears. 

This shouldn't have bothered me.

His faint whisper echoed through the courtyard of the cemetery. He stood in a mossy brick circle, clad with a stained porcelain fountain, flowing water slowly into it's basin. Thomas took a seat on the fountain's edge, not caring about how wet or ruined his dress pants would get. 

He felt lost. He had never felt such an attraction to anyone before, and akin to Thomas' bad luck, he had to be the last person Thomas was expected to fall in love with. The words of the students, the hatred and the curses, the taunts, they burned like bullets in his mind. Thomas wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. 

He shivered gingerly, thinking about how dumb the whole situation was. Here he was, on a rainy night sitting in the middle of a goddamn graveyard of all places. 

Thomas heard the sound of a car pull up behind him into the grassy clearing of the cemetery. His instinct was to run. It was always running. He felt his legs start to move on their own, his shivers controlling his speed. Midway through the clearing, he stopped. 

He expected to see the beat up lemon that was Newt's awful black car. Instead, a large truck flashed it's lights at him. Thomas shielded his face with his sleeve, squinting at the sudden change in lights. He heard the click of the door and the crunch and slosh of the wet grass. 

"What the hell are you doing out here, hermano?" 

Thomas lowered his arm, adjusting his vision to the man in front of him. There Jorge stood, jogging towards Thomas. The young boy breathed a sigh of relief. Atleast he wouldn't get kidnapped and murdered in a shallow grave tonight. Public embarassment and harassment was good enough for one day. 

Jorge whipped his heavy coat off, throwing it around Thomas' shoulders as he walked him back to the truck. "The hell are you thinking? You're going to freeze to death out here, muchacho." Jorge retorted, jumping into the driver's seat. Thomas shuddered again from the cold, Jorge looking at him with forlorn eyes. He turned the ignition on but leaving the car in park, allowing warm air to fill the car. Thomas sighed at the warmth, wiping the rain off of his face with an old rag Jorge had given him. 

"You haven't answered any of my questions yet." Jorge sighed. Thomas looked dreadfully out the car window, closing his eyes, stinging from the rain.

"I did a bad thing." Thomas muttered, his breath fogging up the glass. 

"So...the logical thing was to run to the cemetary?" Jorge scowled. Thomas slouched into his seat, his wet clothes becoming more and more uncomfortable. 

"I wasn't planning on coming here. It just happened." Thomas snapped, to his regret. Jorge held his hands up defensively, before crossing his arms. 

"I'd ask but I don't think you're in any place to-" 

"I think I love someone." Thomas cut him off. He had never been one to be very guarded about the subject, but he definitely didn't think he'd be discussing it with Jorge in his truck late at night in the middle of a graveyard. 

Jorge's eyes widened. He cleared his throat before attempting to string together some advice. "Look muchacho. I might be an old man to you, but I'm not that old. I remember loving someone for the first time. It's scary stuff, hermano, and...you wanna run away from your problems. But running can't solve everything." 

Thomas sighed, his face falling into his hands before he let out a strangled groan. "I just did a bad thing. I shouldn't have done anything. I never thought that he'd ever l-" Thomas cut off his muffled rant after the phrase he had spilled out of his mouth. He tried to dispute, but was cut off by a shake of the head from Jorge. 

"This is because you love a chico?" Jorge laughed. Thomas couldn't help but feel offended, despite him knowing Jorge had no malicious intent in his actions. "I was afraid you fell in love with a pair of track shoes or your car, or something weird like that."

Thomas smiled lightly, before fading into a somber frown once again. "I..." 

"It's Newton isn't it?" Jorge sternly remarked. Thomas jerked his head towards the older male, raising his eyebrows at him. 

"Wh....?" 

Jorge laughed heartily. "Ah, you kids think I don't know about these sort of things. I'm 26 Thomas, not 85. And let's face it, you were all Newton talked about for weeks." 

Thomas was a little suprised at the last notion. Newt really did care about him, and he probably embarassed him in front of far too many people. Thomas felt like complete garbage.

Jorge smiled, turning his head towards the open field. "Let me...Let me tell you something about Newton. And, I don't know if he surely wants you to know this, but this is a very special circumstance." Jorge turned to face Thomas, eyes flickering with memory and preparation for monolouge. 

"Newton met me when he was 15. He had bonded quite quickly with Brenda, which is an entirely different story, but Brenda had been under my care for years prior. It's no suprise that I found the kid frequently in the shop after they had met. Brenda had a hard time with the whole 'making amigos' part of school, so I was excited to see her befriending anyone. Newton was a lot different years ago. He was timid, shrewlike almost..." Jorge paused, as if remembering a painful recollection about his own childhood.

"He...He didn't have the best of luck in the life lottery, you know? The kid had a pretty, excuse my language, fucked up home life. The details aren't mine to share, but I'll tell you, that house had too many bottles and scars for any 15 year old kid, child have you, to be comfortable." 

Thomas felt his heart drop a thousand feet into the Earth. He had never wanted to think of all the awful stuff Newt had felt. All the internal affairs and pain. He just added more to the list of battle bruises Newt had to carry. 

Jorge continued. "So, I tried everything I could to make the kid comfortable, but he insisted he was fine and that this was okay. It broke my heart and goddamn Thomas...I regret not doing more for him every single day..." Jorge's eyes started to glisten with tears in the foggy light of the field. 

"But... he knew he was loved somewhere. His freshmen year, he was such an honored student. Track star, lead standing relay racer. Perfect grades with the smile and personality to match. I couldn't be more proud of him, Brenda and I both, considering his family wasn't there to feel the pride. Eventually..." 

Jorge stopped again, his breathing rattling and his hands wrapping themselves around eachother nervously. Thomas felt his own eyes begin to water again, and not from the rain.

"I...I got a call. Actually... I got two- no, three calls that day. One from the school, one from Brenda, and one from St. Christopher's children's hospital. Oh god...that day. The day I faced his parents in the waiting room, the angry yells about taking care of you children and maybe they won't fucking try to jump off of the school library!" 

Jorge had broken down, shaking with anger and despair. Thomas covered his mouth before shaking his head. Not out of denial, but out of fear. 

"He lost everyone after that. His support, his friends, and it's not like his parent's were there to begin with...but. He...Look Thomas. The reason I'm telling you this is because Newton is much stronger than you think. He needs someone in his life that knows that, but also someone who wouldn't be afraid to be his crutch when he needs it." 

Thomas felt his face heat up again. With anger towards everyone who wronged Newt. With everyone who abandoned him when he needed it. Suddenly, all of the color drained from Thomas' face as the revelation hit him like a ton of bricks. In the grand scheme of things, it was such a minute detail that had no relevance or importance, yet Thomas felt his heart race at the realization. Jorge's words echoed into his mind, bruising his memory with their harsh reality.

"The day I faced his parents in the waiting room, the angry yells about taking care of you children and maybe they won't fucking try to jump off of the school library!"

Newt had a limp.  
Because he tried to take his own life.

Thomas might as well have blacked out from the idea itself, but the only reaction he could muster was a strained wince. Jorge placed a comforting hand on Thomas' shoulder.

"Look...I gotta get you home muchacho...but think about what I said." And just like that, Jorge put the car in drive and clicked the radio, screeching out into the rainy streets ahead. The car filled with sad atmosphere, as Jorge turned the radio out to block out the gloomy weather, inside and outside of the truck. 

The sounds filled Thomas' ears, the flutter and strums of Joe's guitar. He almost smiled, as Patrick's ghostly whisper drifted around the space.

-

I got those jet pack blues  
Just like Judy  
The kind that makes June feel like September  
I'm the last one that you'll ever remember  
And I'm trying to find that peace of mind  
Behind these two white highway lines  
When the city goes silent  
The ringing in my ears gets violent  
She's in a long black coat tonight  
Waiting for me in the downpour outside  
She's singing "Baby come home" in a melody of tears  
While the rhythm of the rain keeps time.


	11. Tommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technology sure has come a long way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the nice comments you guys give me, it's literally the reason I continue this. Thank y'all. <33 Y'all are too sweet for me. Anyway, have some tooth rotting fluff to make up for the last two chapters

48 hours was a long time to go with leaving the house by Thomas standards, yet here he was, swaddled in blankets with the hum of the fan resonating through his small room. Thomas sat on his bed, meekly hunched over his knees, gripping the Xbox controller. Minho sat next to him, gingerly holding his own controller, looking at Thomas in worrying glances.

"Y'know you have to go back to school eventually." Minho's voice was stern but full of concern, the way it always had been. Thomas didn't say a word, or even bother to take his eyes off the television screen. Minho simply shook his head in solemn confusion.

"Do you want to talk about this or-" Minho's ramble was cut off by a sharp groan from Thomas.

"For the hundred and fifth time, no, I really really don't want to talk about this. I want to sit here cocooned in my sheets and finish this Halo campaign and then maybe move to Guatemala for a few years." Thomas dropped his controller to cup his face in his hands. Minho placed an awkward hand on his back in an attempt to provide some sort of diffusion to the situation. It didn't work.

Instead, he grabbed both of Thomas' broad shoulders, jerking his body towards him.

"Thomas. I do not care about what happened on Friday. I do care about you. What happened sucked but if you want to let it control you- YOU. Thomas Fucking Dieson, awesome athlete and all around badass dude, then fine. But I know you don't want it to control Newt."

Thomas felt his body drop at the mention of Newt's name. He had made it an unspoken rule to not mention anything about or of the senior. Not because didn't necessarily want to, but because he knew the guilt would probably eat him alive.

"Have you seen him lately...?" Thomas' voice faltered at the question.

"No, of course not. You kind of have a special talent for finding that kid when no one else can." Minho let out a relieved chuckle, and Thomas couldn't help but smile.

"Thomas, I don't care if you like guys or girls or whatever. Teresa doesn't care, Alby doesn't care, and anyone who does care isn't worth the goddamn effort." Minho said, loosening his grip on Thomas' shoulders. "Atleast...Atleast give Newt a call or something. I'm not that good at reading people, especially people I don't see, but I know that he's probably worried about you. And if you like him, then who cares what a bunch of punk ass kids think?"

Thomas laughed at Minho's sudden dad like facade, shoving him in the arm. "You are a punk ass kid, you don't get to make those judgements." He smiled. Minho climbed off the bed, tossing Thomas his phone, before gesturing to his own hand, making a fake telephone with his thumb and pinky fingers. Thomas swallowed hard, hands shaking over the screen. Minho grabbed his bag, heading for the door. Thomas felt a little abandoned, but remembered that Minho probably thought he wanted the privacy.

His thumb traced over the call button a thousand times, before his body overthrew this mind and suddenly his phone was dialing Newt's number.

He held his phone to his ear shakily, hearing the sounds of automated ringing. Suddenly, a click and a thump indicated someone picked up. Thomas considered hanging up like a scared 13 year old girl prank calling her crush, but mentally smacked himself for even considering it. This was Newt, the Newt he had grown so fondly of. The Newt that felt so real, and felt so alive, something Thomas really, really lacked in his life. For the first time in who knows when, Thomas felt like he was okay with who he was and who he would become.

His face heated up, as he felt his blood drain into his cheeks. He opened his mouth for words, but nothing but the ambience of the Halo pause menu was heard.

"Thomas?" A voice rang out from the reciever. It was fuzzy, but it was also distinctively not Newt's. It was most definitely a female's, soft and plush.

"Brenda?" Thomas replied with hesitation.

"Jesus Thomas, where the hell have you been? Jorge told me about the weird graveyard incident. Were you fucking around with spirits or something?"

"Har har. I'm fine, okay? I-" His throat tightened again. "I wanted to talk to Newt."

The other side of the line when quiet for a minute, before he heard Brenda's faint voice call out to him. Thomas heard a quiet "coming!" before Brenda's voice came back into his ears.

"So...just, um. Be cool about it okay?" Brenda nervously whispered.

"What does that mean?" Thomas asked.

"I don't know." She laughed. The phone was passed on with little inbetween, and Thomas sat as his stomach started trying to escape through his mouth.

"Yeah?" A familiar accent spoke to him. Thomas had a feeling Brenda didn't tell Newt who was on the other line.

"I'm really sorry." Thomas blurted out before he could stop himself. Even though he couldn't physically see Newt, he could feel his warm smile flutter across his face, his golden brown eyes lighting up into his imagination.

"I-I don't know what I was thinking, it was stupid and I shouldn't have left you like that, especially since th-there were so many people and-" Thomas' babbling came out like a wave of regret, not slowing down, no matter how many " _Thomas_ "'s Newt tried to interject.

"Thomas!" Newt finally managed to break his guilt fit, before he lost his mind. Thomas swore he could hear him laughing.

"I forgive you."

It was so simple and brief, yet his whole body flooded with a warm comfort, turning his cold blood hot again.

"You shouldn't." Thomas replied.

"I know. But I'm going to anyway because I like you a bunch." Newt replied.

Thomas felt like everything could go wrong at this moment and he'd still be able to smile. It was so dumb, and so juvenile, yet he couldn't help but replay the phrase in his head, on repeat like a broken record.

_I like you a bunch._

It sounded so lame and so cookie cutter, but Thomas couldn't have been bothered to care, even a little.

 _I like you a bunch too_. He thought to himself.

"Let's get out and do something. I know you're probably dying to see me, after Friday." Newt laughed, sarcasm tinging his words.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Or just dying." He added "So tonight at 6. Let's talk or something, I dunno."

"Okay Tommy."

There it was again. _Tommy_. He almost forgot how the nickname sounded on his lips, the homeliness it filled him with. He forgot how much he liked it, how much it made him feel so...

 _loved_.

Minho was right, he was a dumb teenage girl.


	12. (IMPORTANT 2017 UPDATE) (Better writing beyond this point I promise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an actual chapter but important and things

HI YES HELLO!!! IT IS I???!!! fuck shit ass dude its been FOREVER since I touched Limp :U do people still follow this??? is it still checked in people's bookmarks??? cause if it is jesus christmas dude that is dedication to the (albeit poorly written) cause

so if anyone is actually reading this: hi, im w1ltor (call me will!), and ive changed my username here about 727472 times, but i can assure u i am the same person. 

So I started "Limp" when I was a sophmore in high school, and the last update was sometime around early to mid junior year??? which is insane, because im a freshmen in college now ;O;

Looking back, Limp had a LOT of issues. Pacing, characters, continuity inconsistencies, plot narrative, etc etc. overall it seemed like a piece written by... well... a sophomore in high school.

However I still like a lot of the core concepts of "Limp" and want to make a revised version, maybe even just keep this one and try to apply band-aids to the flesh wounds. I don't think my writing was "bad" persay, but I can do about 7274728x better now, as ive matured not only as a writer but as a storyteller.

So I'm going to keep writing it because I like it! And because I like writing! Just know that I cringe deeply every time I read any chapter before this point. :^] I hope you enjoy the rest of the story and hopefully its a bit better than the previous trainwreck chapters.

-Will

(also did i mention the name is stupid as fuck im probably changing it)


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